


gratification

by the_ragnarok



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: But he apologizes, Collars, Consent Issues, D/s, Harold isn't great about it, John says yes to stuff he doesn't actually want, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, mention of John/Kara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 02:44:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12333849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: Harold wets his lips with the pink tip of his tongue, eyes bright and avid on John. "I. I like the idea of you, ah. Waiting for me."





	gratification

Harold wets his lips with the pink tip of his tongue, eyes bright and avid on John. "I, ah, admit I had something in mind."

"Let's hear it," John says. He knows he'll do it anyway. There's nothing he can think of that's worth wiping away that look of hesitant excitement from Harold's face.

"Well." Harold clears his throat. "I. I like the idea of you, ah. Waiting for me."

"Naked and ready?" John suggests. That's certainly no hardship.

Harold flushes. "That certainly has its charms but I was thinking-- to bring you to the edge of, of satisfaction. And keep you there." He swallows. "Indefinitely." He hurries to add, "Of course, this doesn't have to be precisely to my specifications, if there's anything you'd prefer--"

John stretches lazily, enjoying the way it makes Harold fall silent. Harold swallows again, looking at John's naked chest as if mesmerized. "Your specifications are fine," John says, smirking. He leans on his elbow, knowing it will make his arm muscles stand out. Harold has a thing for John's shoulders, and John has a thing for Harold's things, so that all works out great. "Tell me more."

~~

What Harold wants is more long term than John would have thought. Harold sucks him, long and leisurely, stopping every time John is on the verge of coming; that much, John expected. The part afterwards, where Harold hesitated and said, "Would you-- wait longer?" That part is less what John predicted.

"You said indefinitely," John says, struggling to keep his voice languorous, to show no sign of frustration. His balls are starting to ache.

"I did, didn't I," Harold murmurs, cupping John's cheek and pulling him in for a kiss.

John melts into it, into that place in his head where nothing matters except Harold and how good Harold thinks John is. Frustration dissipates and fades until there is nothing but joy.

~~

As long as they're in bed together, John can even say he likes this. He likes keeping Harold's hands and attention on him, likes how anticipation heightens his own focus. It's even a relief in some ways to know that it's up to Harold whether he comes or not, and when, so John doesn't have to worry about taking too long or doing it too soon.

Then the real world intrudes in the form of Harold's phone ringing. Harold grimaces, looks at the message, then back to John. "I think we can spare ten minutes to finish gracefully," he says.

John lost a little steam while Harold was checking his phone, but as soon as Harold's hands are gliding up John's sides and Harold murmurs in his ears filthy-sweet compliments, John is back to shaking. Harold brings him masterfully back to the same high place John was when the phone rang, then he says, "I'd like to give you a choice."

It's that voice, the one that makes John's spine tingle every time Harold uses it. He groans.

"Shall I get you off now?" Harold asks, his hand moving slowly, inexorably, on John's cock. "Or shall I make you wait?"

John tosses his head and groans again. "Christ, Harold."

Harold runs his thumb over the tip of John's cock, perfect and ruthless. "I would very much enjoy knowing you want, still," he says, in a confessional tone. "I'd like to know you're hard in your pants for me, and that it's only your control - which is quite a turn on - and your willingness to bow to my will preventing you from getting off."

Put like that, what kind of choice does John have?

~~

The first thing John doesn't expect is that Harold doesn't allow him to go out.

"Well, if it were an emergency," Harold says, exasperated, when John asks. "But right now," he rests his hand delicately over the bulge in John's pants, "I can hardly let you out in this state, now can I?" He murmurs the last words, looking at John through lowered eyelashes, and John has a brief overpowering desire to kiss Harold.

Harold grabs his shoulders and controls the kiss, turning the wild bruising gesture John had in mind into something soft, brief, and very sweet. "Focus," he tells John, admonishing.

John doesn't even know what he's supposed to focus on. Harold has piles of printed paper in front of him, and he's shuffling through them in search of... something. "Kind of a mood killer, Harold," John says, lightly. He's expecting Harold to make a waspish response, about how their job matters more than John's satisfaction; Harold would be right, of course. John just wants to make his desires known.

Harold quirks his mouth, a sheepish expression. "Mm. And I did want to maintain it... alright, how about I concentrate on the number, and you," he rests a hand on the back of John's neck, "just do as I tell you?"

It's tempting; fuck, but John wants to do that. He struggles with words and frustration and duty. "If you want me to be in fighting form, I do need to focus," John argues.

Harold's hand tightens on his nape. "Is this a judgement you trust me to make?" The question isn't a challenge. It's plain Harold wants to know his opinion. John nods. "Then allow me to make it," Harold says. "Perhaps you'd like to put your collar on?"

John has never turned down any of Harold's offers to put a collar on him, and he's not going to start now. He gets to his knees and bows his head, exposing his neck.

Harold's puts the collar on him without haste but without a motion wasted, either. Once the collar is buckled into place, Harold tips up John's head with two finger under his chin. "Is that comfortable?"

"I love it when you ask rhetorical questions," John says, and nuzzles Harold's hand.

His balls still ache, but it's almost pleasant like this, with Harold's warmth and scent right next to him. The ache makes it easier for John to drift away from his body, content that Harold will take good care of everything, John very much included.

Harold scratches him behind the ear, and John makes a pleased little sound. "This is nice," he says, sounding more surprised than he meant to.

"I'm glad."

The warm approval in Harold's voice makes John giddy, which turns him chatty. "I could do this," he tells Harold. "I just have to decide it doesn't matter if I come."

There's a pause. It could drag John back into himself, but he doesn't want to do that yet. Then Harold says carefully, "Do you want it to not matter?"

"Easier that way."

This time, the pause is weighted. "Easier because you'll find it less painful to be denied," Harold says, and John nods, happy that Harold gets him. "John. Has it been your experience, with me, that I want to deny you enjoyable things merely because I can?"

"Not up till now," John says, but he regrets the words even as he says them. He's sinking back into himself, fast, anxiety sucking him back inside his skin. "Shit. Harold, I'm sorry--"

Harold raises a hand, and John quiets. "I'm not upset," Harold says, then looks sheepish when John raises his eyebrows at him. "Well. Only a little, and only at myself."

"That's kind of what I was trying to avoid," John says.

"Then perhaps," Harold says, pointedly, "you could avoid it by telling me your objections to begin with, rather than making them known halfway through the scene?"

John grimaces. He hadn't meant to make them known at all, but he has to concede Harold's point. The collar feels wrong on his skin now, choking, like a physical rebuke for not giving Harold what he wanted.

"I want to ask why you said yes," Harold says, "but I have a sinking suspicion that I know."

"It wasn't a big deal," John says, feeble. "I could do it."

"Evidently," Harold mutters. Then he sags. "I'm all but done with our number," he says. "Let's finish this conversation after that, all right?"

Easier said than done: Harold winds up working until 2AM and crashing on the air mattress in the back office, John lying next to him, collar stubbornly still on.

~~

John wakes up with his nose in Harold's hair and his hard on pressed against Harold's ass. It's a pretty good way to wake up.

Harold wakes up with a sigh, shifting and beginning the process of turning himself to face John. John patiently waits for Harold to finish moving: he knows by now that Harold hates John moving himself instead.

"Sleep well?" John asks once Harold is re-situated.

"Fairly so," Harold says, and then sighs again. "I owe you an apology. I wasn't at my best last night. It was a bad idea to continue a scene when we had a number, and that was on me, as was blaming you for having a perfectly reasonable response to people treating you badly."

John blinks several times. He opens his mouth, and the sound that comes out can be best rendered as "....?"

"I was tired and cranky," Harold says, "and I let that get the best of me. I'm sorry." He puts a hand on John's cheek. "You did very well, under less than ideal circumstances. That doesn't surprise me. You usually do."

Just like that, John feels warm all over, the constriction of the collar kind again rather than harsh. He feels compelled to say, "I want to give you what you want." He feels compelled to _do_ that, to somehow promise Harold that he'll rewrite himself to be everything Harold wants.

"My dearest," Harold says, impossibly tender, and runs a hand over John's hair; John shamelessly rubs up into Harold's touch. "You do give me what I want - you _are_ what I want. Never doubt that." A wry look crosses Harold's face. "Or if you do, know that while your feelings are valid, I disagree with these particular ones." 

He hooks a finger into the ring set into John's collar and lightly pulls, just enough for John to feel like Harold wants him right where he is. It would be so easy to yield, to let Harold's reassurances wash over him and take away everything else. 

And yet. "I think I could want that," John says. "No, hear me out. It wasn't like that, before." He hesitates, considering how much he wants to tell Harold.

Harold looks highly doubtful. "I'll need some actual nouns from you, Mr. Reese. Perhaps a verb or two."

"Orgasm delay," John says. "I tried it a few times. Didn't like it. But it's different with you." The words are solid understatement. John swallows and tries to explain: "With you, it doesn't feel like it's bad that I want it. To come."

Harold stares at him, eyes wide. "Why would it be bad? It's the entire point of the enterprise."

Put like that... "Yeah, but for you the point isn't to laugh at me for wanting what I can't have." It feels petty to say - like tattling to a teacher: _She made fun of me, tell her to quit it!_ John grimaces. 

Harold's got his thinking face back on. "I see." He leans up and looks at John, one of those laser-beam looks that feel like he's taking John apart, cleaning him and putting him back together. "If I told you how happy I was that you let me keep you that way, how beautiful you are when you wait for me..." He pets John's hardening cock, and smiles, and leans closer to whisper, "If I told you it's because I want to draw it out and take my time before I watch you come for me?"

John damn near treats those last few words like an order. 

Harold runs gentle fingers over the back of John's neck, making him shiver. "But the question is," he says, "how can I be certain you'll tell me if you don't want it, or if it's too much and you'd like to stop?" 

John wants to promise he will, that he'll be completely honest and forthcoming. He stays quiet. 

"I'm almost tempted to do the opposite," Harold muses. "To postpone the fulfillment of this fantasy until further notice, and meanwhile explain to you how much I would enjoy having you wait for me. It's the delayed gratification that I enjoy, you see, my own even more than yours: like having a perfect bottle of wine set out to breathe, and the enjoyment of the glass is enhanced by the expectation. I very much enjoy your orgasms, John, in case you didn't notice."

John whimpers. He did notice, but it's nice to have that theory confirmed. 

Harold exhales and pulls back a little. "But that wouldn't be the opposite, would it? It would be the exact same thing, in meta perspective." He rubs the bridge of his nose and briefly shuts his eyes. "What do you think, John?"

John knows that tone of voice, and the vortex of introspection it portends. He jerks his hips, making his erection rub against Harold's thigh. "I think we can grab gratification while it's here," he says. "Just this once."

Harold snorts and cuddles closer, letting John rub off on his soft, pale thigh. John gasps and closes his eyes, thinking about Harold looking at him with intent, Harold transforming John's aching balls and aching heart into something desirable and beautiful.


End file.
